“No,” I answered flatly, finishing my third goblet of wine and welcoming the fuzzy warmth that’d only been growing since my second drink.
The food was long gone, and the tables had been cleared over an hour ago to make space for the female dancers who’d permanently scarred my mind. They’d entered in scraps of—of course—orange fabric that hardly covered their breasts and bottoms. Except for Harthon, every man had yelled and cheered as the women swirled their hips, bounced, and twirled to a low, smooth rhythm that was all seduction.
It had been wildly uncomfortable.
Luckily, their performance was short, and when it was over, the party guests had immediately stormed the floor. They’d been dancing ever since.
If raucous laughter, uncoordinated spins, and skips could be considered “dancing.”
The man in front of me had come directly from that floor, just like the ten before him who’d gotten drunk enough to approach and ask me to dance. None of them had taken my first refusal as an answer.
This one didn’t, either.
“I don’t have otherworldly gifts or powers or whatever it is you call them, but I have a collection of the rarest gemstones in this world. It would be an honor to give you some,” he said, wiggling his brows.
I sighed tiredly, lifting my goblet to signal for a refill. “I hate gemstones.” It was getting hard to speak clearly, but I didn’t really care. Anything that numbed me to Ellan’s stupid party and everything else was very much welcome.
His smile only widened. “You have a wonderful sense of humor. I do, too. Let’s dance, and I’ll share my best jokes with you.”
I stared at the whiskers covering his chin as my cup was filled. The scruff looked silly on him, like a boy trying to appear as a man. Harthon’s was so much better. All male.
“Take your jokes and choke on them,” I said blandly, sinking into the cushioned seat and taking another sip.
And still, he wasn’t deterred. “I do love banter. You seem to be quite good at it.”
“I will use my eyes to turn you into stone if you don’t leave me alone.” That should do it. It certainly had with every other fool who’d been arrogant enough to take it this far.
The man opened his mouth. “It’s only a dance. You’ll have fun—”
“She means it. Walk away.” At Harthon’s blunt words, the man closed his mouth and scurried away. Just like that.
That was so incredibly unfair.
I whipped my head toward him, and the room moved slower than it should have. He’d heard every exchange before this, but all he’d done was speak to Ellan and pretend I wasn’t about to tear my ears off of my head.
“You couldn’t have said that to every other one?” I asked him pointedly.
“You were handling them just fine on your own.”
I rolled my eyes, bringing the goblet to my lips again. Harthon’s huge hand wrapped around mine, and the cup stopped halfway up. My lips parted on a protest.
“If you don’t stop now, you’ll want to die tomorrow morning.”
“I want to die right now, and drinking more of this will make it better.”
“You’ll regret it tomorrow.”
“I don’t care.”
His focus briefly turned away, and I followed its track to the twelfth man who was approaching me. Had none of them any sense of dignity?
I set the goblet down and threw my face into my hands. “I could stab them and they’d still ask me to dance,” I whined between my fingers.
“I have a solution, you know.”
Pulling my hands away, I looked to Harthon with desperation. “Tell me.”
“Dance with me.”
